


A Murder Mystery (Of Sorts)

by fables



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Character Death, Crack, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-18
Updated: 2006-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fables/pseuds/fables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Echizen ends up as fishfood. This causes issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Murder Mystery (Of Sorts)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU in which the Japanese legal system bears no resemblance to the actual Japanese legal system, and moreover makes _no sense_ , aside from the sense that is required for this story to work.

Two days after Echizen Ryoma went missing, they found his body, bloated and covered with seaweed, floating down the river. TENNIS SUPERSTAR MURDERED!! CRIME OF FEAR OR PASSION OR REVENGE? The headlines read.

"How sad," Fuji said when he heard the news. "From superstar to fishfood." And then forgot about it, for he had more important things to worry about, such as not watering his cacti.

Or at least, forgot about it until the policemen showed up on his doorstep to take him in for questioning.

 

Tezuka was in the middle of reading about federal rules on civil procedures when he heard the knock on the door. He looked up, eyes narrowed in annoyance. The annoyance ratched another level when he found policemen standing on his porch. They almost fell over themselves bowing and apologizing for wasting his time, actions which seemed designed to waste his time even more.

Things were slightly better at the police station; instead of every sentence being an apology, it was only every other sentence.

"You see, Tezuka-san," Mitsuharu said, "you were one of the last people who came into contact with Echizen Ryoma before he died, so we must take your statement, but I assure you, it's just a formality and nothing more. Are you sure you don't want tea? Coffee? Maybe a soda, eh, that's what all the young people these days drink, don't they? Enomoto, if you won't mind-"

"That's not necessary," Tezuka said. Enomoto stopped, midway between sitting and standing. Looked confused for a moment, then finally sat down again.

"I see," Mitsuharu said. "So, forgive me for being so forward, but the last time you saw Echizen Ryoma was-"

"Three days ago. He wanted to play a game of tennis. I refused."

"You refused?"

"I had to study."

"Oh, of course, of course! Exams are very important, perfectly understandable. And, I must apologize once again for asking so many useless questions, but what were you doing on the evening of April-"

"I was studying." His final exam was in four days. It was just like Echizen to be murdered at the most inconvenient time possible.

"I must say, Tezuka-san, your dedication is very admirable. You are a credit to your father and grandfather; everyone in the station thinks so. And was there anyone with you while you were studying, anyone who saw you?"

"I study alone."

"I should have known; other people would only slow you down. Thank you so much for your time, Tezuka-san, we're very grateful for your cooperation. Just one more question, if you don't mind. Do you know anyone who would have a reason to kill Echizen Ryoma?"

One hour later, Tezuka had managed to fill three sheets with names and was starting on the fourth. Echizen had been just as talented at infuriating people as playing tennis. It would have been simpler to list people who didn't carry a grudge against him.

It took another hour and two more sheets of paper for Tezuka to finish the list. He handed it to the secretary, and was just about to leave the station when two officers stopped him. "Tezuka-san, such a coincidence, we were just talking about your grandfather's latest class -"

He demonstrated the throw that they were having trouble with, one demonstration turned into a dozen turned into a three hour class with half the station in attendance, and it was well in the evening before Tezuka could escape.

Murders wrecked total havoc on one's study schedule.

 

The scene: a room half in darkness, one lightbulb fizzing on a wire. A policeman leaning back in his chair, a cigarette in his hand; another policeman sitting ramrod still, head bent and eyes on his pad, a continual scratch-scratch sound as he wrote. A small table between them, empty but for a bulging folder, behind which sat one Fuji Syuusuke, currently the prime suspect in the murder of tennis star Echizen Ryoma.

"You realize that you'd make things easier on everyone if you just confessed now. Everyone knows you did it," said Officer Mitsuzaka. He took a drag, blew out the smoke in Fuji's face. Tapped the cigarette on the side of the table so that the ash fell on the floor.

"But I don't know I did it," Fuji said. He had been getting a bit forgetful lately - misplacing keys and picture rolls and even one of his cacti. But this was something he would remember.

"There was the gun that you bought," said Officer Miyahama, back still imitating a ruler. His tone of voice reminded Fuji of Inui's, listing the ingredients in his penal teas.

"I was interested in shooting pictures of it, not shooting anyone else with it." He'd been planning to pose it with newly-bloomed flowers, because he liked capturing contrasts and juxtapositions.

"But you lost it before you could take any pictures, and you can't remember how or where," Mitsuzaka said.

"And it's purely coincidence, of course, that its specs exactly match those of the weapon that killed Echizen Ryoma," Miyahama finished.

Fuji's smile turned rueful. Put like that, it did sound bad. What made it worse was that he couldn't really argue with any of the points, for that was exactly what had happened.

Miyahama put down his pen on the pad. Picked up the folder, flipping through its contents.

"And then there is Mitsukuri Ryouko's testimony that Echizen Ryoma was a frequent visitor to your apartment and you to his-"

"I wouldn't say _frequent_ , I was just the photographer assigned to cover him when he played the Japan Open, and issuing challenges to former sempai was Ryoma's favorite hobby-"

"-not to mention the pictures you took." Miyahama tipped the folder, and photographs of Ryoma in various states of undress, sometimes alone and sometimes with others, fell out onto the table.

Fuji's smile grew strained. _He_ hadn't taken those pictures; he'd just bought them from another photographer. At first he'd considered auctioning them off, starting a bidding war. But he hadn't really needed the money for anything -- he already had the most state-of-the-art camera with multiple lenses, and his cacti thrived most on his inattention -- and there might've been a more amusing use for them later. Perhaps blackmail, if Echizen persisted in dogging him.

But now the future blackmailee was dead, and all fingers pointed to Fuji as his killer. Things hadn't really worked out as he had planned.

It was rather disappointing. Fuji had expected more of Echizen.

Miyahama gathered the pictures again, put them back in the folder. Mitsuzaka took out the pack, tapped out another cigarette.

"And you have no alibi for the night that he was killed," Miyahama said, in the same monotone voice.

That night, Fuji had stayed up developing his films in the darkroom, and then had gone to sleep alone. Further evidence (not that any was necessary) that even one night of chastity could have extremely unfortunate consequences.

"The only thing we don't know, really, is _why_ ," Mitsuzaka said, and leaned forward to drive home his point. "Were you an obsessed, jilted ex-lover, jealous of the attention he paid others? Or was it the success he'd achieved. You played tennis too, didn't you, when you were younger, yet never turned pro."

"Perhaps I was just bored," Fuji said, and when Mitsuzaka blinked, "It's just as likely as anything else you've mentioned. I don't suppose there's any way I could have a smoke?"

 

One hour after Tezuka returned home, forty-five minutes after he sat down to study, his phone rang. He ignored the first few rings, clenched his hands at the next few, then finally shut his book at the twentieth, picking it up.

 _"What?"_ He didn't bother checking the caller ID. Now that Echizen was dead, there was only one person left who would be so annoyingly persistent.

"Ah, Tezuka. Is this a bad time?" Fuji asked.

"Yes."

"I don't suppose you'd consider making a visit to the police station?"

"No," said Tezuka, about to hang up instead.

"They told me that I could make one call to my lawyer-"

"I'm not a lawyer."

"Ah, but our judicial system is notoriously backlogged, and by the time my case reaches trial you will be."

"No."

"Tezuka-" A beat of silence. Another. Then, "I think I could use your help," and Tezuka stilled.

Fuji had never, before, asked him for anything; not seriously. Never seemed to need anything, amused and untouched and a bit puzzled by the doubts and fears and adolescent crises of those around him.

But now, he was asking.

Tezuka rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the headache. "I'll be there in half an hour," he said, and hung up the phone.

It was turning out to be a very long day indeed.

 

The scene: an even darker, smoke-filled room, the bulb still fizzing, clinging vainly to life. One policeman slumped in his seat, drooling on the folder that served as his pillow; the other waving his cigarette around to emphasize the point that smoking _Lucky Strikes_ did in fact make one effeminate, and he had no sympathy at all for the current crop of girly-boys that seemed to be in the vogue lately; while the main suspect in the murder case drew a screaming face on the table from the cigarette ash, occasionally murmuring _yes, I see_ , or, _you make a very good point, Mitsuzaka-san_.

The door opened, and Miyahama jerked up, blinking sleep from his eyes. Mitsuzaka scrambled to his feet.

"Tezuka-san, an honor, but forgive me, I think you have the wrong room, we're in the middle of intense interrogations with a murder sus-"

"I'm Fuji's lawyer," Tezuka said, neatly cutting Mitsuzaka off. He placed his briefcase on the table, sat down on the chair that Mitsuzaka had previously occupied. Mitsuzaka stared, mouth open like that of a fish out of water.

The world was righting itself again; this was how other people were supposed to feel, not Fuji.

 

Tezuka flipped through the folder, face expressionless. Listened as the policemen outlined the case against Fuji.

"Let me summarize," Tezuka said once they'd finished. "You're holding Fuji because of a murder weapon that you've failed to find, even after a thorough search of his apartment-"

"We have policemen on the crime scene searching for where he might have disposed of it-"

"And because he has in his possession some pictures, an unusual thing for a professional photographer-"

"But you must admit, the pictures were rather risque, and people with his preferences are known to be..."

Tezuka glanced up, eyes dark, and Miyahama trailed off with a cough.

"And because he doesn't have an alibi." Tezuka closed the folder, then placed it back on the table, an action that had the same impact as that of someone throwing it across the room. "You're wrong about all the facts of this case," Tezuka said.

"Tezuka-san, I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Fuji does have an alibi," Tezuka said, and Fuji blinked.

"But Fuji himself says that he doesn't!" Mitsuzaka looked inordinately pleased to have finally found a point from which Tezuka couldn't budge him.

"He didn't tell you out of concern for the other person's reputation," Tezuka said, and Fuji's eyes widened.

Tezuka _wouldn't_.

"I don't think I understand," Miyahama said slowly.

"Fuji was with me that night. All night."

The policemen looked at Tezuka as if he'd just turned into an alien. Fuji sympathized completely.

"We're in a relationship. We've taken pains to be discreet, but you can call Shuichiro Oishi, a former classmate of mine from Tokyo University" - Tezuka took out his pad, writing down a name and phone number, then tearing the page out to hand to Miyahama - "for confirmation."

"And my sister, Fuji Yumiko," Fuji said in the stunned silence. Then, "Saa, I'm sleepy. Thank you for your hard work. This has been fun and very illuminating."

 

Fuji had been brought to the police station handcuffed in a squad car, so Tezuka drove him back. They sat for a time in silence, Fuji watching the billboards on the highway, the other cars they passed.

When they turned into Fuji's neighborhood, Fuji spoke. "You said Oishi-"

"Three months ago. You'd left a roll of film in my living room," Tezuka said. "And a shirt with missing buttons. He didn't say anything, but I assume he drew his own conclusions."

"I see," Fuji said. "I was wondering where that film went."

"And Yumiko?"

"She said she saw it in the cards."

"When?"

"A year ago," Fuji said, and if he hadn't been paying attention he would have missed how Tezuka's fingers briefly tightened on the wheel.

They reached Fuji's apartment, and Tezuka stopped the car.

"Thank you," Fuji said politely. And then, "Would you like to come in?"

I have to study," Tezuka said.

"Of course," Fuji said. "Well then-"

"I won't stay," Tezuka said, and Fuji smiled.

 

Tezuka came in and took off his shoes. Picked up the camera that was lying on Fuji's table and took out the battery.

"I have two," Fuji said. "Would you like the other?"

"Yes," Tezuka said, and performed the same operation on the second camera. He dumped both batteries in the trashcan, then walked towards Fuji.

"You don't take any chances, do you?" Fuji said. Put a hand around Tezuka's tie, drawing Tezuka nearer. "I knew I could put my trust in you. But you do realize that those policemen will never-"

"Be quiet," Tezuka said, and kissed him, as purposefully and thoroughly as he did everything, leaving Fuji no choice but to comply.

 

Tezuka's shirt was on the bed, his socks on the floor, his pants next to the door and his jacket and tie in the living room. Tezuka left Fuji in the bed and followed the trail of discarded clothes, picking them up one by one and putting them on. When he reached the living room he turned on the TV, softly enough that the sound wouldn't reach the bedroom.

He was reaching for his tie when the reporter announced that the case of Echizen's murder had been solved. Tezuka paused, turning his attention fully on the TV, on the impeccably made-up woman who was talking excitedly.

"...killed by a longtime friend and rival and who some people consider might also have been a love interest, one Horio Satoshi. Our reporter is on the scene outside the suspect's house - Nakamura-san, can you tell us what's happening?"

The scene shifted from the news studio to a quiet residential street. A gray-haired man stood beneath a tree in front of a modest one-storey house.

"Well, Saito-san, it appears that the suspect has voluntarily turned himself in and confessed to this crime. Here are scenes from the news conference that he held just a few minutes ago-"

The scene cut to one of a young man wearing a baseball cap being led away by policemen through a chattering crowd of reporters and photographers and onlookers, then cut again to the same man standing where the reporter seemed to be, talking into the seven microphones that were thrust into his face.

"My name is Horio Satoshi, and I have twelve years of tennis experience. I first met Echizen Ryoma ten years ago, when he came to Japan from America and joined my school's tennis team. I have been his cheerleader, his rival, his other self, the one that stayed in the shadows and never felt the sun, the applause and acclaim; he has been the ideal that I could never reach, the idol that had to be shattered, the god that had to be brought down and proven human..."

There was a slight noise, the door to the bedroom opening, and Tezuka turned. Saw Fuji, hair mussed, strands falling to cover his eyes as he tied his robe.

"You didn't do it," Tezuka said.

"Of course not," Fuji said. "No one would have suspected me if I had." He looked up, smiled at the expression on Tezuka's face. "You didn't expect me to tell the truth, and I didn't expect you to lie. I'd consider it even."

Tezuka tilted his head, then nodded. Finished putting on his tie, then picked up his briefcase.

"Goodnight, Tezuka," Fuji said. "Have fun studying."

"Goodnight," Tezuka said, and Fuji watched him walk away, an unfamiliar feeling growing in his chest.

"Tezuka," Fuji said as Tezuka opened the door. Tezuka stopped, halfway out.

"Thank you," Fuji said.

Tezuka nodded his head, and left without a backward glance.


End file.
